K's story
When I opened the case I was horrified
When I was a child I spent a lot of time on my own. My younger brother was often poorly and needed constant care, and more attention than me, so I was told. I didn’t always agree with that, but no-one really listened to what I had to say. So, most of the time I was left to my on devices, which resulted in me becoming an avid reader.
My Mother made it her mission to teach us both to read at a very early age, so I have always found comfort in a good book.
I was one of those kids that read under the bed sheets with my torch, as a teenager I would pick up a book and read all night long.
The escapism of a good book, for me as an adult, is a tool to control the madness of my life!!
I rarely read anymore and that upsets me deeply.
But, as I was thinking about the title of todays writing group I found myself, coming up with so many possibilities that I just couldn’t make up my mind as to which idea I should choose.
As I kneaded dough in the wee hours of the morning, I thought back to some of my favourite books and what I loved about them,and what I would have imagined in the suitcase that would have made me so horrified.
If I was my 5 year old self I would be in the enchanted wood with Joe, Beth and Frannie, with Moonface, Saucpan man and Silky the Fairy up in the Magic Faraway tree
Climbing up to the top of the tree with my friends and waiting for the new adventure to start what would we have thought was in the case and who would dare to open it !! What could possibly have been inside? I’m pretty sure Joe would think it could be treasure, Beth probably something very practical and I’m pretty certain Frannie would hope it would be full of toys and sweets!!
As they gathered the courage to open the case imagine how horrified they were to see it was full of old school books! Definately not what they wanted to see in the middle of the summer holidays!
A little older I would have been with the Swallows and Amazons pack of friends,
Four children who escaped the tedium of a summer holiday with their mother as they camped on their own on an island in the middle of a vast lake. But, what did they find in the case that was so horrifying? Upon opening they could not believe what they saw. It was a spiral staircase leading down into the darkness with a message written in what looked like blood and on the first step was a map and a compass. When they unfolded the parchment a brass key fell to the floor. As the intrepid explorers headed off on their adventure the battles and obsticles they encounted along the way would teach them skills of survival, the value of friendship and the importance of holding your nerve.
Of course I was addicted to the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, I couldn’t stop reading the fantasy books about a talking Lion, a wicked Witch who turned the country, Nania, into perpetual Winter.
As the four children who were evacuated from London during the Blitz, batteled to save the Faun Mr Tumnus they discovered an enourmous case that was just appeared overnight. Once they dug it out of the snow they were horrified when it sprung open and lying in it was the King of the Lions Asled. The most ferocious, the most revired leader of all Nania and the only one who could save them from the White Witch.
Can you see a theme here?
As I get older I still love the thrill of a good book.
I have always found that a book is so much better than a film as there are so many possibilites to imagine what could be in a case that would make you horrified!!
On a final note, if I opened a case today I would be horrified to fine I had been given the treaty to world peace and harmony!
Sadly, this is just a dream, but we must have hope!
Paula's story
All he wanted was to live an honest life. No more cheating, no more lying, no more secrets from his wife. He had a wonderful life, a wonderful wife, two wonderful kids, a wonderful house and the job of his dreams. What made him put all that at risk, by consistently stepping out, seeking sex with women he really didn’t care about once they were no longer moaning underneath him in a musty hotel room? He knew, intellectually, that he was mimicking the behavior of his father, and look how that ended up: dad on the sidewalk in front of the family home, kicked out by his mom who finally couldn’t take his unfaithfulness any longer, shunned by family, friends, neighbors, and the churchgoers who profess to be Christian and forgiving of all sins.
It had to stop. He could make it stop. He would live an honest life, the life he was blessed to have, the life he was grateful to share with a beautiful woman who loved him deeply. Who loved him deeply because she didn’t know.
He sighed, and wrenched open the little door to the closet under the stairs, looking for his fishing tackle box. He always felt most like himself out on the water, alone with his rod and reel, casting for trout or bass. Just him, the boat, the open water, the fish. Solace. Happiness.
As he fumbled among the rain boots and skateboards, the hiking sticks and umbrellas, he came upon a small case nestled in a corner of the closet. He had never noticed it before, and he hauled it out into the hallway to take a look. He didn’t recognize the neat little case, a tidy plaid canvas bag with a tiny lock. It wasn’t very heavy, and it wasn’t hard to force open the lock.
When he opened the suitcase, he was horrified. It was filled with all the essentials for a romantic picnic: wine glasses, plates, silverware, a pretty little cloth, a bottle of Champagne, a book of love poems … His heart caught in his throat. And he realized at that moment that he wasn’t the only liar in the family. As he sat, dumbfounded, looking at the proof that his wife, that sweet, good, above-reproach woman, was cheating on him, he heard footsteps on the staircase above him.
“Oh, no!” his wife cried. “You weren’t supposed to find that! I was going to surprise you with a romantic picnic, just the two of us. You’ve been working so hard lately, such long hours away from home, and I thought if I could get you away, just us, we could reconnect and remember how much we love each other.”
He was flooded with relief, with guilt, with remorse, with love. “Yes, my love,” he said. “Let’s do exactly that.”
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Jackie
Waiting rooms can be the most tiresome of places. When you’re tired of looking at your phone, finished the last chapter of your book and read all the peeling ads on the walls, time is endless.
It was tempting then to pass these hours wondering what was in that tattered suitcase peeking out from under the seat next to me. I had been waiting for a while – the local train from Florence to Rome was delayed for a ‘technical fault’ and the announcements in the small town where I had been staying were undecipherable as I didn’t understand a word of Italian.
The suitcase was in leather with straps fastened by big brass buckles. Corners were rounded out using brass or leather caps.
A long recent scratch against the front had left a white mark which could have been caused when it was pushed under the metal seat perhaps in a hurry. You could still see fluffy bits of cover that were obviously new. The leather was faded in parts and a little cracked. And, wait a minute, a label attached by very thick rough string tied as if to the very worn handle in a hurry. Strangeley though the label was blank. I moved a little in my seat and stretched out my foot – pushed it a little – it didn’t move. Must be heavy I thought. Whatever could be inside it?. My mind started to play tricks on me as I imagined; first a bomb, I couldn’t hear it ticking ( but then perhaps bombs didn’t tick any more as they were activated by an application or sum such on smartphones) perhaps a dead body but then no blood seeped out from under the case and it didn’t smell from where I was sitting. Perhaps it contained a pile of bank notes – someone robbed a bank then being chased by police threw it into the waiting room and then ran off to hide. This was the most plausible theory but meant that the person who it belonged to would be back to pick it up in no time at all.
Having ruled out these possibilities I started to study the other people sitting in the room to figure out who this suitcase belonged to. The nearest person next to me was an elderly man holding on to a knobly wooden walking stick and drummed his fingers on the curved handle. Brown moth eaten coat, trilby hat and sad eyes. He seemed nervous and kept looking at his watch which was loose on his wrist. He flicked it round again to check on the time and sighed.
A young woman in mini skirt and fluoescent top with earplugs danced gently to whatever was in her ears.
And a middle aged man in tight jeans and leather coat . He wore dark glasses on an already somber day which was suspicious. Perhaps the suitcase belonged to him and he was waiting for us all to get on the train so he could recuperate the loot.
Then there was the young couple with a baby – who was sleeping – and the woman rocked it to and thro while the (presumable) father re arranged their belongings Mind you, they could have stolen the baby as an alibi and were just waiting to grab the loot and be off.
Oh dear, now I was determined to see what the suitcase held.
I reached down and began to undo the brass buckles holding the straps in place.
They were very stiff from unuse and it wasn’t until ten minutes of trying that I realized that in fact there were two big press studs holding the straps in place. Having unclicked these I proceeded to open the lid. I hadn’t noticed before but there were two brass hinges at the back of the lid and as I prised it open they squeeked uncontrollably. The other people in the waiting room hearing this looked up for a minute or two and then went back to waiting. No one seemed bothered that I was trying to open the suitcase so I proceeded.
I tugged and lifted the lid bending length ways in my seat to give extra pull.
I pulled it round to face me and tugged with all my strength – which I didn’t have a lot of these days ; Finally I suceeded in opening a tiny gap and peered in but to no avail it was too narrow to be able to see anything.
Using all my force and placing a foot on the straps and another on the handle I managed to pry it open but ……….”When I opened the suitcase I was horrified”…
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Geraldine's story
"When I opened the suitcase I was horrified..."
On my last trip back from Australia, the stop in Shanghai airport was scheduled for 7 hours.
What was I going to do to kill the time ? First, maybe look at the Airport with the architec’s eye. I knew it had been designed by Paul ANDREU at the begining of the 21st century and that, looking at it from outside, it was shaped like a bird, a glass bird.
And indeed, it was a huge glass and steel building. As I couldn’t leave the place because I didn’t really have time to get a 72 hour pass to China, I wandered in the huge enlightened hall with the impression of lightness given by the height and the lights falling like bird from the dome. I took pictures from all sorts of different angles and then decided to stroll in the Duty Free area to see what gifts I could take back home for my friends who had been looking after the dog.,
Small coloured China tea sets, the most wonferful range of fans with black and white drawings, read and gold motives or just plain bamboo, ying and yang balls for meditation, the most delicately decorated ivory eating sticks, the very vivid coloured silk scraves, the fantastic range of different tins of chinese teas…. It was hard to make a choice.
Finally, remembering the little space left in my suitcase, I decided to chose the smallest items in order to make sure they would fit. So I bought a few eating sticks, a couple of silk scarves and 3 fans, one with a red and white tree when opened, and the two others with a black and white landscape.
I put them all in the front compartment of the small backpack I always kept with me and went to find a quiet place to try and get a couple of hours sleep before the next plain. Luckily, I found a kind of long chair with a zipped cover to it where I , set my alarm clock, cuddled in , shut the cover and let the arms of Morpheus carry me into the world of dreams.
The alarm clock went off, I jumped to my feet quickly enough to have a bit of spare time for a morning coffee (having no idea of when morning could be !) and aiming towards Gate nr.3 as printed on my boarding ticket.
Another 10 hours to go before reaching Charles de Gaulle Airport, getting my suitcase and running through the Airport to the TGV to Montbard… The journey was far from being over yet !
A couple of films later, interspersed with dreams, food and little walks to the loo and back, the pilot announced we were starting the landing in Paris, where it was raining with temperatures around 8°. Brrr.
I looked at my watch trying to make out what the time was in Paris, the jetlag making me feel a bit dizzy. OK. I probably will be there in time to dash to the TGV station. If not too long waiting at the luggage reception. Fingers crossed.
The plane finally stopped after a very rough landing and I started heading to the luggage claim. It wasn’t too far. Would this be my lucky day ? It was dark outside, and looked quite cold. Not only did we have to cope with jetlag on these return trips, but also with seasons, coming from hot sunny days to dark cold rainy days… I could foresee a couple of days dozing indoors to accomodate to the new situation…
I snatched a trolley, ran to recuperate my suitcase and, what luck, as I reached it, my suitcase was there just in front of me, ready for snatching. Which I did, and started running to the station. The Gods were with me : I would catch that train.
Hopped on to it, set the alarm on my phone in order not to miss Montbard, found my seat and started reorganizing my bags etc. I thought it might be better to put my gifts in the suitcase, so went to fetch it and put it on the seat next to mine where noone was sitting.
When I opened the suitcase I was horrified, restrained a scream, looked around to see if anybody was or had been looking, and almost fainted. I kept my eyes shut for a while, trying as hard as I could not to shake and waiting for my heart to come back to a reasonable beating.
I opened my eyes very slowly, turned my head left and right to see if anybody was looking my way and decided to lift the top of the suitcase gently to find out about this nightmeare.
I very carefully lifted a corner of the suitcase, got this foul odor climbing up my nostrills, and the sight of what looked like dozens of small cut hands lying close to each other like sardines in a tin !!! My god it’s not a nightmeare, but yes, it is and a huge one !
I promptly shut the case again and looked at it : it was exactly the same as mine, dark grey with a black handle. But how many dark grey suitcases with black handles are vomited each day by hundreds of factories ? Who can answer this one ?
Meanwhile, here I am, in the TGV, obviously with the wrong one and a huge enigma to solve !
Shall I call the police, shall I hide it and burry the hands in the middle of some deep forest ? , shall I try and find my own suitcase tomorrow, calling the airport, shall I ???...
Too tired, too tired to think. Bed, bed, bed and as Scarlett says : « tomorrow is another day »
